


Dragon Keeper

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [21]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, BAMF Constance Bonacieux, Dragon Riders, Gen, Insidious villain, Sick dragons, Worried Musketeers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24456187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: When sickness strikes down the King’s dragons, a dragon trader arrives with a special cure. But then he starts to gradually worm his way into replacing the current royal dragon keeper: Constance’s father.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 27
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos shivered as he stepped out into the chilly, mid-winter morning, drawing his heavy altitude cloak closer around him. He hated flying in these temperatures. The air up there was already several degrees colder than it was on the ground, and when the ground was frigid, well, it was going to be nippy. Their dragons would have to fly at a lower altitude so their riders didn't turn to icicles, which would tack on some extra time to their trip.

Porthos sighed. He was just grumpy when he had a mission that took him away from the comforts of Paris in the winter, even if it was only for less than a day.

The door next to his room opened and Aramis stepped out, also fully dressed for their mission. The two of them would be taking some contracts to a merchant in Calais. It was a two-hour flight normally, two and a half if they had to fly lower and stop for extra breaks.

"Alright, let's go," Aramis said brusquely. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return."

Porthos made a nonverbal grunt in agreement, and the two of them headed for the dragon dens. Porthos whistled for Vrita, and she stuck her head out of her alcove in response. She looked as enthused about this trip as he was.

"Yeah, I know," he cajoled. "But Calais ain't far. We'll be back in time for lunch if we don't dawdle."

Vrita gurgled in disgruntlement but shuffled out of her den.

"Rhaego," Aramis called, going to coax his dragon out.

Porthos tried not to grumble himself; Rhaego would definitely dawdle. Porthos headed for the dragon tack room to retrieve Vrita's saddle and made sure to grab an extra saddle blanket. He'd gotten it on and the straps cinched by the time Aramis came out of Rhaego's den, sans dragon. His mouth was pressed into a thin line.

"Rhaego's sick," he said.

Porthos frowned. "Sick? You sure he's not jus' bein' stubborn?"

"He hasn't touched his breakfast," Aramis replied. "And he looks ill. I'm going to get Jean. Will you tell Treville?"

"Sure." If Rhaego was ill, that meant Aramis wouldn't be accompanying Porthos on this mission.

He gave Vrita a pat on her flank and told her to wait as he went up to the captain's office. It was early; regular muster wouldn't be for another half hour but Porthos and Aramis had gotten this assignment last night and had been told to leave at first light. And now they'd be delayed.

Porthos rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Come!"

He opened the door and stepped inside, the wash of warm air an immediate difference. The captain was up and standing over his desk as though he never slept, save he hadn't donned his coat yet and the bed was unmade.

Treville looked over with a furrow between his brows. "You need something? I gave you the contracts last night."

Porthos patted the fold in his coat where said documents were tucked away. "Rhaego's fallen ill. Aramis went to get Jean."

The lines around Treville's mouth deepened and he snatched his jacket off the hook to slip into it. Porthos backed up, back out into the cold, as Treville exited his office and started toward the stairs. Porthos followed.

They went to Rhaego's den where they found the russet dragon curled up in the back, his slab of morning meat untouched a few feet away. Porthos frowned; he really didn't look well at all.

Treville went and knelt down on one knee next to the dragon, placing a hand on Rhaego's head. Rhaego merely blinked languidly, evidence he was feeling rather poorly instead of giving a snort or indignant eye roll like he normally would.

Treville stood and walked out. "Vrita is well?"

"Yeah, she's fine."

"Alright, take Athos with you."

"Won't he love that," Porthos murmured.

Treville, of course, gave no indication he cared one whit whether Athos loved it or not, and he called over one of the stable boys to go and summon the lieutenant musketeer, since he didn't reside at the barracks like most of them did. It just meant an even later departure time.

Porthos went back over to Vrita. "Sorry, girl," he said, giving her another pat in commiseration as they waited.

Aramis returned with Jean in tow and Porthos watched from a distance as they entered Rhaego's den. Sickness wasn't unusual, same as it was for humans. Some rest and medicine and Rhaego would be back to himself in a day or two.

It was twenty minutes before Athos graced the garrison with his presence. Though his expression was as impassive as ever, there was a hunch to his shoulders that suggested he really didn't appreciate the last-minute change in assignment. But he wordlessly went to get Savron saddled and ready to go. Porthos noticed he didn't have an altitude cloak with him, so he went and got one from the storeroom. Only then did Athos grant him a nod of acknowledgement, the ice thawing. They mounted up on their dragons and took to the skies.

Porthos's hands and feet were frozen by the time they arrived in Calais. They took a few moments to feed their dragons some scraps of meat to replenish their energy before the return flight. Savron scarfed his down while Vrita nibbled at hers. Then Porthos and Athos left them in a field outside of the city as they headed for the shipyard where they were to deliver the contracts. The delivery required a response including a detailed inventory of the promised goods, which meant waiting around, though Porthos took advantage of the crackling fire in the hearth to bring feeling back into his digits.

Unfortunately, their host's hospitality didn't extend to offering them something to eat and Porthos was getting hungry. It was a relief when they were finally given the missives to return to the King and Porthos practically bolted out of there.

"There's a tavern," he pointed out as they strode up the street.

"Aren't we a little behind schedule as it is?" Athos replied blandly.

"You tellin' me you don' want some wine to warm up before we fly back?"

Athos shrugged and followed him into the tavern. Athos did have a point, though, and so Porthos made an effort to eat and pay quickly. Their dragons were probably antsy to get home too.

Properly fed and thawed, the two musketeers once again ventured out into the cold. At least the skies were clear and the sun was directly beating down on them, offering a barest kiss of proffered warmth in these pale winter months.

Savron was easy to spot in the barren field where he sat tall and on the lookout. Vrita had lain down next to him but she rose at their riders' return. Then it was back to the skies to head home.

Not even half an hour into their flight, Porthos noticed Savron pulling further and further ahead. He leaned over Vrita's neck to get a look at her and frowned when he saw her jaw hanging open, panting.

"Athos!" he bellowed, then tapped Vrita's neck and signaled for her to land.

She angled toward the ground, pulling up at the last second to touch down, but she hit with a heavy thud and promptly plopped down. Porthos leaped from the saddle and hurried around to her front. She was wheezing, her eyes dull and sunken, and there was a sticky mucus around the edges of her mouth. Porthos's heart dropped into his stomach as he crouched down to stroke her head.

Savron landed a moment later a few feet away.

"What's wrong?" Athos asked.

"She's sick. Probably the same thing Rhaego has." Porthos clenched his jaw. "I'm sorry, old girl. I shoulda come right back after we got the papers instead of stoppin' at that tavern."

"You couldn't have known," Athos said, kneeling next to him to look at Vrita. He rubbed a thumb across the scales under one eye. "She's dehydrated." He got up and went to grab his water skin from his saddle, then came back and dribbled some water into her mouth. "The garrison is the best place for her. Can you make it?" he asked her.

Vrita let out a small mewl but tried to push herself to her feet. Porthos reflexively put a hand against her shoulder to help brace her.

"We'll take it as we need to," Athos said, mostly to Vrita. "If you need to stop and rest, do."

She swung a pitiful look at Porthos as though in apology and he shook his head. "You got nothin' to be sorry for. Jus' do your best an' if you can't make it, we'll deal with it. But Athos's right that your nice warm den will be the best place for you to rest up and feel better. So we'll try, alright?"

She bobbed her head in the affirmative. Porthos climbed back into the saddle with a remorseful grimace, knowing having to bear his weight was only adding to her strain. But he wanted to be near her to give her the encouragement she'd likely need to make this journey home.

They launched themselves back into the air, this time Savron making a point of flying behind Vrita. Porthos hated the way he could hear her wheezes above the wind, and it made his heart clench. He just kept rubbing her neck and coaxing her on, telling her they were almost there even when they weren't.

But eventually the miles and hours dragged by and Paris finally came into view.

"That's it, you can do it," Porthos kept repeating until finally they arrived back at the garrison.

He nearly pitched sideways out of the saddle when Vrita collapsed in the yard, rolling onto her side. He dismounted swiftly and turned to the dens, hoping Jean was around checking on Rhaego. He stalled in confusion when he found musketeers moving swiftly to and from the individual dragon dens. No dragons were out in the yard, nor was anyone training or hanging about between duties.

"Porthos," Cornet called, coming over, his eyes trained on Vrita. "Has she fallen ill as well?" he asked.

Porthos faltered. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Cornet glanced back at the dens. "Half the garrison's dragons are sick."

Porthos's brows shot upward. "What?" They'd only been gone a few hours…

"See if you can get her back to her den," Cornet went on. "I'll inform Jean you're back."

Porthos nodded and turned back to his dragon. Athos was already removing her saddle. Porthos gave him a curt nod of thanks and crouched down at Vrita's head.

"Come on, girl, jus' a little further to your nice warm den, alright?"

She pushed herself up on shaky legs and began a slow shamble across the yard. Porthos kept pace with her the whole way until she finally reached her den and lay down inside. Jean came by a few minutes later. The dragon keeper wordlessly examined her eyes and mouth.

"She'll be all right, yeah?" Porthos asked.

"There's a tincture I can give her." Jean shook his head to himself. "I've just never seen a disease spread this quickly. Savron was out with you?"

Porthos nodded. "He doesn't seem sick though."

Jean nodded. "Yet, anyway. I'd quarantine him at the compound but we don't want to risk spreading it there too. He'll have to remain here."

He headed out of the alcove and called for Constance to bring some of the medicine down to Vrita's den next.

"So what do we do?" Porthos asked as that festering feeling of helplessness that reared its ugly head every time someone he cared about was gravely ill churned inside him.

"We keep the dragons contained and hope whatever this is burns itself out quickly," Jean replied and walked away to check on another dragon.

Porthos turned as Athos and Cornet walked over to him.

"Captain Treville has cancelled all dragon rider missions," Cornet informed them. "He's sending out horse riders to deliver correspondences, though he may need to reassign some dragon riders to make up for the slack."

Porthos's stomach clenched at the thought of being sent away while his dragon was sick. What if she got worse? What if he wasn't there?

Athos placed a hand on his shoulder, expression neutral but eyes understanding. Porthos gave a jerky nod and pulled himself together. Worrying about what-ifs never did anyone any good. He'd lost his mother to sickness, but that didn't mean he was going to lose Vrita. He'd help tend to her and trust in Jean to make them all better.

.o.0.o.

With Constance and Jean working nonstop to tend the sick dragons, d'Artagnan was left to feed and care for the ones in the compound. Jean didn't want to risk potentially transferring the sickness to them, which d'Artagnan understood. Besides, he'd lived with Bonacieux long enough to know what to do.

In between that and his regular Musketeer duties, he brought Constance and Jean meals and made sure they took the time to eat them. Constance had been coming home at night to sleep but d'Artagnan was pretty sure Jean hadn't. He was working tirelessly trying to determine what the sickness was and how to treat it, because as of yet his remedies weren't helping at all. Constance was worried about her father and the strain he was putting himself under, in addition to the dragons. D'Artagnan didn't mention it but he'd been at the palace that morning and overheard the King in a snit over possibly losing his prized dragons. They were just symbols of stature to him. It was the riders and dragon keepers who would be truly devastated at the losses.

That evening, d'Artagnan returned home alone and went to work feeding the seven dragons housed in the royal dragon compound. He always saved Ayelet for last so he could sit down and spend some time with her. She'd been neglected a bit with everyone so busy.

She didn't get up when he opened her pen nor when he tossed the hunk of meat in.

"Ayelet?"

She let out a pitiful keen, and d'Artagnan's heart stuttered. He rushed to crouch down next to her, stomach cramping at the cloudy dullness in her eyes.

"No," he breathed.

She was too big for him to carry now, so he bolted from the den and sprinted to the garrison.

"Constance!" he called.

She came out from one of the dragon dens, brow furrowed. "D'Artagnan?"

"It's Ayelet. She's sick too."

Constance's eyes widened in alarm and she hurried back with him to the compound next door.

D'Artagnan folded his arms tightly across his chest as she looked Ayelet over. "It's the same thing, isn't it?"

Constance stroked the young dragon's head soothingly. "Yes." She looked up at him, both of them mirroring the same fear in each other's eyes. They didn't know what to do for her.

They didn't know what to do for any of them.


	2. Chapter 2

Richelieu lifted the wood lighting stick from its cradle and tipped it into one of the candle flames to catch. Then he used it to light a few more votives to increase the illumination in this dank, underground chapel, a forgotten chamber from another century. But that made it useful for certain clandestine meetings.

"Things are proceeding as planned," the man behind him spoke. "There is no cure for the dragons. Only the one I possess."

With his back turned, Richelieu sneered in distaste. He abhorred magic and its blasphemous practitioners. But as long as the agents of abomination were working for _him_ , he might as well make use of their particular talents. And he needed to act swiftly to regain some of his influence over the King.

He turned around with a swish of his robes. "The King is distraught. It's time to begin the next phase. And if all 'proceeds as planned,' you will become the new royal dragon keeper."

One who would answer to the Cardinal above all.

.o.0.o.

Jean clasped his hands together tightly as he stood before the King and Queen in the throne room. "All the dragons in both the garrison and the compound are now sick, Your Majesties," he reported. "I have tried everything, but nothing has worked."

"Are they dying?" the Queen asked in concern.

Jean dropped his gaze. "If something does not change soon…I am afraid we'll lose many of them."

It tore him up inside. He had trained these dragons, several of them from when they'd first come to the compound. He could no more bear to lose his daughter.

"This is unacceptable," Louis ranted.

Anne placed a gentle hand on the armrest of his chair. "I'm sure Bonacieux is doing everything he can."

Jean flinched at the blatant trust. He _was_ doing everything he could. It just wasn't enough.

"Your Majesty, perhaps it's time we seek help from an expert," the Cardinal spoke up.

The Queen furrowed her brow at him. "What kind of expert?"

Richelieu gestured at Jean. "Of course Monsieur Bonacieux is a skilled dragon keeper, but perhaps his knowledge is somewhat outdated. I know of a dragon trader we could consult who has had more diverse experience in the trade."

Jean bristled at the insinuation that he wasn't qualified to care for his dragons, but he bit back his indignation. His dragons' lives were at stake and he would take whatever help they could get.

"Can this dragon trader be summoned in time?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, he is in Paris," Richelieu replied. "I believe he had some business in Mantes and is now on his way east. I will send my men to find him and request he come to the palace right away."

"Yes, yes," Louis agreed urgently. "Thank you, Cardinal."

Richelieu bowed in response.

Jean didn't like the almost smug look on the man's face, but it didn't matter. He could only hope this dragon trader knew what to do to save their dragons.

.o.0.o.

Porthos sat on the ground in Vrita's den, holding her head in his lap as strained wheezes eked out of her in weak shudders. A spiky lump constricted his throat, threatening to cut off his air as surely as Vrita struggled for hers. She had been his partner for six long years. He couldn't imagine life without her. He didn't want to.

A scuffing sound drew his gaze to the archway of the den as Aramis leaned against it. He looked as worn and exhausted as the rest of them.

"How is she?"

Porthos looked back down at his dragon. Her green scales had lost their vibrancy and it had been hours since she'd been fully awake. He knew what the end looked like.

When he looked back, Aramis had hung his head. Of all the musketeers, he knew what it was like to lose a dragon.

Porthos cleared his throat. "How's Rhaego?"

"The same. Savron's still conscious. He might still make a turnaround."

"What about Ayelet?" Porthos asked with a jolt. She was so young…the young and the old were the most vulnerable to such things.

Aramis shook his head.

Porthos clenched his jaw in helpless anger. How could this be happening? Why was it happening?

Aramis turned his head as something caught his attention and then he straightened and moved away from the den. Porthos hesitated for a split moment before gently transferring Vrita's head to the ground and getting up to see what it was.

Jean was walking across the garrison yard with another man Porthos had never seen before. He had red hair and a prominent scar through his left eyebrow and was carrying a large satchel. Several musketeers emerged from the dragon dens at their arrival.

"This is Thierry," Jean introduced. "He's a dragon trader who's agreed to see if he can help us."

The man in question waited for no more introductions and instead went straight to the nearest den, which happened to be Vrita's. Porthos hovered at the archway, folding his arms across his chest as he shrewdly watched the man bend down to examine his dragon. Vrita didn't even stir at the prodding.

Thierry stood after a few moments. "Yes, I believe I recognize this disease. It's rather common in the northern countries and requires a simple treatment to cure, of which I have the ingredients for. I will mix it up and have your dragons back to normal in no time."

Porthos straightened with a surge of hope. "Really? You can help 'em?"

Thierry smiled reassuringly at him. "Of course. I'm surprised Monsieur Bonacieux didn't recognize the symptoms himself after they persisted this long, but perhaps he hasn't had much experience outside his own compound." Thierry lifted his satchel and patted it. "Is there a work space I might use?"

"This way," Captain Treville spoke up.

Porthos immediately went and crouched down next to Vrita. "Hear that, girl? We got some medicine comin'. You jus' gotta hang in there, alright?"

It felt like ages waiting on pins and needles for Thierry to return with the treatment when it was probably only fifteen minutes. The dragon trader brought in a vial and glass dropper, which he used to feed some tincture into Vrita's mouth with Porthos pulling her lips back. Then he made his way down the line of dens to treat each dragon.

"We have eight more in the compound," Jean told him when he was done.

Thierry nodded. "Lead the way." He turned to Treville. "I will return tomorrow morning to check on them, but I'm confident they will be well on their way to recovery by then."

"After one dosage?" Athos spoke up, tone laced with skepticism.

Thierry merely nodded. "Dragons are hearty beasts."

That was true; just last month Savron had recovered from burns to his eyes instead of going blind from them. Porthos knew Athos tended to be pragmatic by nature, but he was going to choose to be optimistic and believe their dragons were going to get better now.

Treville turned to address his men as Jean and Thierry left for the compound. "I would point out that we all need to get some rest, but I have a feeling most of you would ignore it." His expression pinched; the captain couldn't deny he also felt the emotional strain of watching his dragon grow sicker each passing hour.

After a moment, Treville shook his head. "We're in for a long night."

At that, they all wordlessly turned to go back to their respective dragons.

Porthos returned to Vrita's den and sat on the ground again, pulling her head back into his lap. No matter what happened, he wanted her to know she wasn't alone. He tried to stay awake, to keep vigil, but he must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he knew, a puff of hot air was billowing in his face.

He wrinkled his nose and opened his eyes, squinting down at the amber orb looking back up at him, clear and bright and shining.

"Vrita!"

She let out another huff, looking rather content lying in his lap. He ran a hand over her head and down her neck. There was a luster to her scales again and her breaths were steady and smooth. She trilled at him and he let out a half blubbering laugh.

"How you feelin'? Can you get up?"

She slowly lifted her head and shifted to get her legs under her, then stood. Porthos backed out of the den, watching her take very steady steps into the sun. He noticed a handful of other dragons already out in the yard, their riders feeding them breakfast.

"She looks like she's feeling much better," Aramis's voice said happily.

Porthos turned to find him walking toward them, smiling. "Where's Rhaego?"

"Sleeping in, as usual. But he's much better, just like everyone, it seems."

Porthos grinned widely. He was so relieved he'd take a dozen missions to Calais in the winter and never complain again.

"Vrita!" D'Artagnan came jogging over. "I'm so glad to see she's all right. Where're Rhaego and Savron?"

"Rhaego's being a slug, and Savron and Athos are over there." Aramis nodded toward the opposite end of the garrison where the silverback and his rider were having a quiet moment. "Ayelet?"

D'Artagnan looked ready to collapse in relief. "She's much better. Constance is with her. She was scarfing down her breakfast when I left to come check on you guys. Whatever Thierry did, it worked."

"God bless that man," Porthos said.

Aramis abruptly straightened. "Speaking of whom…"

Porthos and d'Artagnan followed his gaze to the main gate where Thierry was entering, along with the King and the Cardinal. They stopped to examine Savron for a moment before making their way to the rear of the yard where the rest of the dragons were.

"It looks like I was right," the dragon trader said. "Each of them has made a full recovery."

"Absolutely marvelous," Richelieu commented. "Isn't it, Your Majesty?"

"Yes indeed," Louis replied, looking delighted. "Not a sick one left in the bunch?" he queried.

"No, Your Majesty," d'Artagnan quickly answered. "The dragons at the compound are well also. Bonacieux is with them."

"I don' know how we can ever thank you," Porthos said to Thierry.

The man smiled. "I was happy to help. The dragon trade is work I take immense pride in."

"As does Monsieur Bonacieux," Aramis put in a tad tautly.

"Of course," Thierry replied. "And he has an impressive clan here. I have just been lucky to have had a broader experience in my travels that gave me the specific knowledge to be of help."

"And lucky for us," the Cardinal interjected. "You saved the King's dragons. You shall be rewarded."

"Oh, no," Thierry protested. "I couldn't possibly take any money. It was my pleasure to serve Your Majesty."

"The Cardinal is right," Louis said. "Your great deed must be rewarded."

"If it's not money you desire," the Cardinal quickly chimed in, "perhaps you would stay as a guest. And share some of your dragon wisdom with us. Who knows what new developments in the trade we are missing out on."

Louis brightened at the suggestion. "I concur. Please accept an invitation to stay and regale us with your tales."

Thierry bowed before the King. "You are too gracious, sire."

With that, the royal party and their esteemed guest took their leave of the garrison.

Aramis watched them go, eyes narrowed. "I wonder what the Cardinal is up to."

Porthos blinked. "What are you talkin' about?"

"He was quick to sing Thierry's praises."

"The man jus' saved all our dragons. He deserves a medal."

"Who deserves a medal?" Athos asked, walking up to join them. Savron and Vrita greeted each other with a touch of their noses.

"Thierry, for savin' our dragons."

"I'm not saying he didn't help us," Aramis argued. "I'm just saying I don't like the way the Cardinal was so happy about it."

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. "I don' like the man either but I think you're lettin' your grudge color things."

Athos's brows were furrowed slightly. "It is strange, though. The Cardinal usually shows no interest in the Musketeer dragons."

"He doesn't usually even try to hide his apathy toward them," d'Artagnan added. "But this morning I would say he did seem a little too enthusiastic."

"So what?" Porthos rejoined. "Our dragons are gonna be okay. That's all that matters." He turned to Vrita with a loving pat on her shoulder. "Let's find you some breakfast, mm? Bet you're starving after not eating for a few days."

Her stomach rumbled loudly as though in response.

Their exit was briefly paused as Treville walked out into the yard with his dragon Kilgar, the old beast moving slowly but without trouble.

"Take the day to fully recuperate," Treville called out to the congregated dragon riders. "That goes for both dragon and man. We have a lot of missions to catch up on!"

Porthos sighed. What was that he'd said about not complaining about future missions? No rest for the weary, he supposed.

But as he took in Vrita's bright eyes and restored liveliness, he realized he didn't care if the captain sent them across the channel to England. His partner was back by his side and that was all that mattered.


	3. Chapter 3

The dragons made such a remarkable recovery that Treville had them back on missions the day afterward. Aramis would have preferred to give them some time, make sure they wouldn't relapse. But each one of them seemed truly fine and in fact eager to get out of the garrison after being stuck in it for so long. Still, he made sure Rhaego took plenty of breaks as they flew south to deliver some papers to a Comte.

Porthos and Athos had nearby destinations as well and so they all flew together before splitting up at the final stretch. They also rendezvoused for the journey home.

"No setbacks?" Aramis asked, looking Vrita over earnestly. "Not even a minor cough?"

"Nope," Porthos replied. "She's good as new. I'd be the first one to fuss over her if she weren't, you know. Thierry's cure worked."

Aramis stepped back and patted the green dragon. "I'm just being cautious. That was a very serious illness and I don't want to risk pushing them too hard so soon."

Porthos merely shrugged. "Like I said, she's good. They're all good. Stop worryin'."

Aramis flicked a look at Athos who was standing off to the side and looking his characteristically unbothered self. Aramis sighed. It was probably just the field medic in him. He'd learned battlefield medicine so he wouldn't have to stand back and watch comrades die, but he didn't know everything. When they got back to Paris he'd have to ask Jean what Thierry's cure was. He should have asked earlier, but he'd been understandably distracted. He just needed to make sure they weren't caught in that situation unprepared again, especially away from the garrison.

After a few more minutes rest, the three musketeers mounted up and resumed their flight home. When they landed at the garrison, Aramis was surprised to see the dragon trader Thierry going around the dragon pens by himself.

He dismounted quickly and strode toward the man. "Have the dragons had a relapse?" he asked in concern.

"Oh, no. My cure was absolute, as I promised," Thierry replied jovially. "I just wanted to get to know the dragons, now that I'm going to be taking over their care."

Aramis blinked incredulously. "Excuse me? What do you mean you're taking over their care?"

Athos and Porthos came up behind him.

"I'm afraid Bonacieux has fallen ill. He probably overworked himself. He's not exactly a young man. The King asked me to take over his responsibilities until he's recovered." Thierry looked past them, eyes brightening at their dragons. "Marvelous specimens," he commented, stepping around them to move closer, his gaze roving up and down every inch of them.

Rhaego bared his fangs, which gave the man pause.

"Hm, Bonacieux's discipline appears to have grown lax over the years. Complacency comes with old age too."

"Rhaego respects those who earn it," Aramis put in curtly. He did not like this man's attitude or the way he constantly disparaged Jean.

"A properly trained dragon knows its place," Thierry rejoined. He cast one last considering look at Rhaego that set Aramis on edge. Then the dragon trader turned and walked away.

Aramis watched him go, eyes narrowed. Then he turned to go unsaddle Rhaego and put his tack away. After that, he needed to find d'Artagnan and find out what exactly had been going on in their recent absence.

Fortunately, d'Artagnan found them. Aramis did not like the grim expression on the young Gascon's face.

"What's this about Thierry taking over for Jean?" Aramis asked without preamble.

D'Artagnan huffed. "So you heard?" He shook his head. "Jean fell ill two days ago, shortly after you left. He's been bedridden with fever, and with Constance busy taking care of him, the King appointed Thierry the interim dragon keeper. He moved into one of the outbuildings."

Aramis's brows knitted together in concern. "Has Lemay seen to Jean?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "He's done all he can, but…just like with the dragons, nothing's worked."

"Hang on, you don' think the dragon sickness was contagious, do you?" Porthos asked worriedly.

"That is unlikely," Athos put in.

D'Artagnan shrugged. He looked exhausted, probably from helping care for his father-in-law in between his duties. "No one else has gotten sick. Just Jean. Lemay said he worked himself tirelessly caring for the dragons and that could have weakened him."

Aramis frowned. So Thierry had said. But the dragon trader hadn't seemed too put out by all of this.

He finished putting Rhaego's tack away and hung up his altitude cloak. "I'm going to check on Jean."

His medic skills were of course no greater than a professionally trained doctor, but Aramis wanted to see for himself if there was anything he could do.

.o.0.o.

Constance folded the damp cloth over and mopped her father's brow with the cooler side. He shifted in discomfort. The fever had riddled his body with aches and sapped his strength. If it didn't break soon…Constance was truly beginning to fear for him.

Bleary eyes opened slowly and she managed to smile for him. "How are you feeling?"

He gazed at her for a prolonged moment, and Constance's breath faltered.

"You shouldn't spend so much time at my sickbed," he finally said, voice frail.

"Someone's got to look after you," she rejoined, opting for a casual tone.

"The dragons…"

Constance hesitated. "Thierry's looking after them."

She hated the way the faint light in her father's eyes dimmed a fraction.

"Of course," he murmured.

"Can you eat something? I made soup." She got up quickly and went to grab the bowl off the dresser. "It's still warm."

He didn't look enthused, but he offered no complaint as she started to spoon feed him. After only a few mouthfuls, however, he turned his head away.

"You have to keep up your strength," Constance pleaded.

"I'm tired," he murmured, eyelids drooping heavily.

She wanted to shake him awake, beg him not to give up, to keep fighting. She wasn't ready for him to leave her.

A knock on the bedroom door startled her badly and she almost spilled the soup.

"Sorry," Aramis said hurriedly. "I tried knocking at the front door, but d'Artagnan said you'd probably be… I didn't mean to startle you."

Constance set the bowl aside and stood. "No, of course it's fine. Father, Aramis is here."

"Mm," was the drowsy reply.

Aramis cautiously approached the bed, his hat clutched in his hands. "Jean," he greeted with a soft smile. He reached down to gently clasp one of his wrists, but Constance noticed the way he subtly placed two of his fingers to measure her father's pulse. "You're doing a fine imitation of the dragons only a few days ago."

"Not- not the same thing," Jean said tiredly.

"True, dragon and human diseases aren't typically transmutable between the two." Aramis smoothly released his wrist and gave it a loving pat. "What did Doctor Lemay say?"

"Said he couldn't find a cause," Constance put in. "That it was probably exhaustion." She wrung her hands in her skirts, biting back that exhaustion should have improved with proper rest. But he wasn't getting better.

Aramis casually roved his gaze along the medicines Lemay had left on the dresser. "All good treatments," he commented. His gaze briefly met Constance's before looking back at Jean. But he was already drifting deeper into sleep. Aramis lightly placed the back of his hand against Jean's brow, his mouth turning down at what he felt. He glanced at Constance again and cocked his head toward the hall. They both quietly left and made their way to the kitchen.

"How are you holding up?" Aramis asked.

Constance folded her arms around herself, afraid she might break if she admitted the truth out loud. "When he first fell ill…Doctor Lemay said he just needed rest. But he's only gotten worse and nothing's helped. It's just like with the dragons and I don't understand…" Her breath hitched.

Aramis set his hat on the table and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"Jean is strong and has a lot to live for," Aramis replied.

Constance let him hold her for a few more moments as she swallowed back the tears and composed herself. Her father couldn't give up and neither could she.

"And I don't like Thierry," she said, drawing back. "Every other thing that comes out of his mouth is some kind of backhanded statement against my father and how he's been running things here."

Aramis's mien hardened slightly. "I've noticed."

"This morning I found him throwing out things from one of the work sheds. As if he has any right!"

She had confronted him about it and he had calmly dismissed her, suggesting she worry her "pretty little head" over tending her father and the home. As if she hadn't spent her entire life helping her father keep these dragons and knew just as much as Thierry did. But the King had asked him to help out and what could she say to that?

Aramis frowned. "Why don't I take some shifts sitting with Jean so you can care for the dragons more? Make sure Thierry doesn't get too comfortable in his temporary role."

Constance smiled as a massive wave of relief washed over her, and she pulled Aramis into a hug this time. "Thank you." He always knew what to say and do to show he had her back.

He gave her an encouraging smile in return. "We'll get through this."

Constance nodded. She had to hold onto that belief.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan sat on the dirt floor of the training arena, fiddling with the knobs and slats of a very complex box with multiple small compartments. It'd been in the pile of things Thierry had tried to get rid of but that Constance had angrily rescued. She said Aramis had built it for Rhaego back when they were trying to tame the russet dragon. D'Artagnan thought it might be a fun exercise for Ayelet to use. From what Constance had explained, it was a puzzle box a dragon had to figure out how to open in order to get to the treats hidden inside. D'Artagnan was still figuring out all the compartments himself though…

Something bumped his leg and he looked over to find his little imp of a dragon with her head burrowed all the way into his bag.

"Ayelet!"

She jerked her head out, mouth full of the meat chunks that were supposed to have gone in the box. She flashed him a toothy grin before darting away with her catch. D'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

"Ah, there you are."

D'Artagnan grimaced; he often found Thierry's voice grating nowadays. Getting to his feet, he brushed the dust off his trousers and turned to the dragon trader. "You need something?"

Thierry slid a bland look over the puzzle box, then flicked his gaze past d'Artagnan to where Ayelet was munching on her snacks. "I'd like to take on Ayelet's training," he said. "She's old enough to start. The earlier the better."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Thanks," he said slowly, "but Constance and I have it covered."

"I know what I'm doing," Thierry insisted.

"So does Constance. And Jean," he added, having caught on to the dragon trader's disdain for Bonacieux. The more Thierry stuck around, the harder it was for d'Artagnan to tolerate him, regardless that he'd saved their dragons.

"And yet the King appointed me dragon keeper."

D'Artagnan's jaw tightened. "Of the King's dragons. Ayelet belongs to me. I'll see to her training."

He picked up the puzzle box and pushed past Thierry.

"If she's not one of the King's dragons then she shouldn't be living in the royal compound."

D'Artagnan pulled up short and whipped back around.

"Using the King's resources to keep _your_ dragon," Thierry went on. "Why, that's almost like stealing, isn't it?"

D'Artagnan bristled at the man's audacity. "The Bonacieuxs have served the King for generations. And Ayelet will one day serve him as well, even if she's not officially one of his."

Thierry shrugged. "I can see you mean well, but you're not a dragon keeper. You probably shouldn't even be living here either."

"Excuse me?" Was this man seriously trying to suggest d'Artagnan _leave_?

"I'm sure as a musketeer you'd have living arrangements at the garrison that you and your wife could move into. And Captain Treville might be more understanding about housing a dragon that may or may not one day serve his regiment."

D'Artagnan could only stand there, flabbergasted. It seemed Thierry couldn't wait to throw them all out and take over—permanently.

"Jean is still the royal dragon keeper and it is still his house," d'Artagnan said sharply.

Thierry merely shrugged again as though unbothered. But there was a smirk to his lips as he walked out of the building.

D'Artagnan set the puzzle box down and ran a hand over his hair in agitation. Something had to be done about that man. He was as sleazy as anyone d'Artagnan had ever had the displeasure of meeting. No way could they just let him worm his way into Jean's place.

A nose nudged his leg and he looked down to see Ayelet had come over. She mewled in concern, obviously picking up on his emotions.

He reached down to pet her head. "Stay away from Thierry," he said lowly.

She quirked a confused look at him but d'Artagnan knew she understood him. He just hoped she'd listen when he couldn't always be around to watch and make sure Thierry didn't try to take over her training after all. Or throw her out.

But with Jean's health continuing to decline, how were they going to stop him?


	4. Chapter 4

Aramis sat at the yard table under the captain's office with Constance, d'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos. The d'Artagnans had called a meeting to discuss their concerns about Thierry. Concerns Aramis shared, though Porthos still seemed blindly grateful to the man who had saved Vrita. Aramis understood, but things were starting to go too far.

"Perhaps you should appeal to the Queen," he suggested to Constance. "I'm sure she would support you taking over your father's work until Jean is better."

There was a haunted look in Constance's eyes at the mention of her father, for the fact was Jean was not getting better, and what Constance would really be asking was to take over her father's trade completely.

"I don't know," she hedged. "Thierry has the support of the Cardinal."

"The Cardinal doesn't get to dictate the keeping of dragons," d'Artagnan put in.

"But his opinion does hold weight with the King," Athos pointed out mildly.

"So does the Queen's," Aramis replied.

"All that aside," d'Artagnan interjected. "Doesn't anyone else think the circumstances around this are suspicious? All the dragons get mysteriously sick and nothing works until Thierry swoops in to save the day. And now Jean's sick and nothing's working, but not to worry, Thierry will take care of the dragons."

"What are you suggesting?" Athos asked in a low tone.

D'Artagnan flicked a hesitant look at Constance. "Maybe he's behind it all? Maybe he's somehow poisoning Jean."

Aramis frowned at the suggestion. Some poisons worked gradually, especially if administered in small, regular doses. But how would Thierry have maintained access to Jean with Constance and d'Artagnan, and now Aramis, taking turns watching over him?

D'Artagnan shook his head in obvious frustration. "I don't know. But I don't trust Thierry, or the Cardinal. And he's the one who brought him here."

"Hang on," Porthos finally chimed in. "Look, I'm as fond of Constance and Jean as the rest of you; they're fine dragon keepers. But don't you think you're jus' reachin' for somethin' that ain't there? Thierry's helped us."

"And now he's helping himself to whatever he wants," d'Artagnan rejoined tersely. "And he wants Jean's job. He's threatened to have me and Constance thrown out of the compound because we're not official dragon keepers."

Porthos blinked in surprise at that information.

Athos's eyes narrowed a fraction and he turned to Constance. "You should speak with the Queen, at least to ensure your place in the compound. You are as much a dragon keeper as Jean, and the Queen knows that."

Constance nodded and looked at Aramis next. "Do you think my father could have been poisoned?"

"I don't know, but I could try some treatments for it." He hesitated. "They might make him sicker if it's not actually poison though…"

Constance's expression fell. It was a difficult weight to bear: the decision of life and death, especially when it came to loved ones.

A commotion back at the dragon dens interrupted their discussion and they all automatically turned their gazes toward it. Thierry was back and was accosting Rhaego. The russet dragon sneered but then merely turned his back on the man and started to walk away. Thierry pulled out a whip, the tips glinting with slivers of obsidian.

Aramis leaped to his feet and sprinted across the yard as the first strike fell. The acimite inlaid in the leather strips weren't large enough to cause significant damage, but they were enough to hurt.

Rhaego jerked as the tails snapped across his flank and he whirled around with an enraged shriek. Thierry stood with feet apart, arm poised to lash the whip again. Rhaego drew himself up to attack.

"Rhaego!" Aramis yelled, running full out now. He tackled Thierry to the ground and rolled, the whip tails tangling around them.

Pounding footsteps came up on them and d'Artagnan and Athos seized the dragon trader and hauled him to his feet, then shoved him a few feet back. Aramis scrambled to his feet as Constance stood in front of Rhaego, arms up and commanding him to stand down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Aramis seethed at Thierry.

The dragon trader brushed himself off and shot a vitriolic gaze back at him. "I am dragon keeper here and your beast _will_ mind me."

"We do not use whips," Athos said coldly.

Thierry sneered at him. "You've coddled the beast, allowing this sort of behavior. Does the King know this dragon is so recalcitrant? I can't imagine he'd stand for such rebellious tendencies."

Aramis's blood began to boil. "Jean Bonacieux and Constance have proven they know how to handle Rhaego." He glanced over at Constance having reined Rhaego in, though the dragon was still glaring furiously at Thierry. Aramis turned back to him. "Perhaps you're not as skilled a dragon keeper as you think you are."

Thierry didn't say anything, though he was visibly fuming. After a moment, he turned and walked away.

Aramis spun back to his dragon. "Are you all right?" He ran his hand down Rhaego's flank in search of marks. There were a few red scratches but nothing serious.

Rhaego grumbled low in his throat.

"I know," Aramis replied.

"You cannot let him goad you," Constance told Rhaego urgently. "No matter what he does, you must not attack him."

Rhaego bared his teeth to show what he thought of that.

"Constance is right," Athos put in. "If you attack him, it will only prove his point to the King."

Aramis's heart constricted with a surge of fear. It'd been years since Rhaego had drawn the King's attention in a bad way, when the stubborn dragon had refused to be tamed. The last thing they needed was to remind Louis of that.

D'Artagnan put a hand on his wife's arm. "We should go to the Queen, now."

Aramis nodded. "I'll go with you." Rhaego had helped save her life recently; if anyone would champion his dragon, it would be her.

.o.0.o.

Constance felt nervous as she stood in one of the palace's many opulent rooms, even with d'Artagnan and Aramis by her side. The Queen was gentle and fair, and had even supported Constance's right to choose not to submit to an arranged marriage, but Anne was still the Queen and Constance was still just a woman.

The doors at the other end of the room opened and the Queen entered, a train of ladies-in-waiting behind her. Anne smiled brightly. "Constance. And two of the King's bravest musketeers. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Constance curtsied. "Your Majesty, I…I have some concerns. About Thierry."

The Queen's expression faltered. "Oh? From the reports the King has received, I thought Thierry was doing a competent job."

"He is," Constance reluctantly replied. "Though some of his methods are…different. He took a whip to one of the Musketeer dragons this morning."

Anne looked shocked. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"Rhaego was…ignoring him," Aramis put in. "We had to intervene before it turned…ugly."

The Queen looked genuinely concerned at that.

"It's not just this morning, though," Constance spoke up again. "Thierry has been very gracious to assist us while my father is ill, but now he is acting as though this is to be a permanent change. He thinks d'Artagnan and I should move out of the compound completely." Constance hesitated with dread. "Has…has there been discussion of removing us?"

Anne's brows knitted together. "No, of course not. I shall speak with Thierry about this and clear up any misunderstanding he may have. Your family has served us for generations and we would not so readily dismiss you. My hope is Thierry can be a resource to assist you in any way he can."

Constance had to bite her tongue not to say what she thought of that last part. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Anne's expression softened. "How is your father?"

Constance's chest hitched. "He's…he's not well."

The Queen nodded sadly. "My prayers are with him."

She gave d'Artagnan and Aramis a farewell glance before taking her leave.

Constance sagged. She shouldn't have expected more; it wasn't like she had any grounds for having Thierry dismissed entirely.

Aramis put a hand on her arm. "At least you and d'Artagnan won't be kicked out any time soon."

She nodded. That was something. Because that was her home and her dragons, and she wasn't going to give them up without a fight.

The three of them headed back to the garrison. Constance didn't know how soon the Queen would summon Thierry to "straighten him out." She hoped it was soon.

But as they reached the garrison, all thought of that fled in a rush of alarm as she saw Thierry there again, _with_ the King and the Cardinal, and with Rhaego brought before them. Rhaego was glowering at the dragon trader, and Constance felt both Aramis and d'Artagnan stiffen in terror at what he might do, though the man didn't have the whip with him. Thierry stepped up to the dragon, shoulders drawn back, posture authoritative. The two stared each other down.

Constance put a hand to her throat, pulse fluttering in trepidation. But after several long moments, Rhaego slowly lowered his head to the ground in a completely submissive gesture. Aramis exhaled sharply in surprise. Constance couldn't believe it either. Rhaego must have taken their warning to heart, but to fully submit like that…she'd never imagined he'd consent to that.

"Absolutely incredible," the King suddenly proclaimed. "You truly are a magnificent dragon tamer, Thierry."

Thierry inclined his head toward Louis in gratitude of the praise.

"He would make a fine replacement for Bonacieux," the Cardinal added. "Who is, I'm told, sadly declining in health. It may be time for him to retire, go live in the country where the climate might be kinder to him."

Constance couldn't believe what she was hearing. She reflexively took a step forward, only for d'Artagnan to seize her arm and hold her back.

Thierry bowed again to Louis. "It would be my honor, Your Majesty."

Louis nodded in consideration. "The Cardinal might be right. Thank you, Thierry. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come along."

The group turned and began to make their way toward the dragon compound next. Aramis rushed toward Rhaego, who had remained on the ground and didn't look up, not even at his rider.

"Constance!"

She hurried over as well and dropped down to the ground next to Rhaego's head. His pupils were fully dilated and his gaze utterly vacant. Her heart lurched. What had Thierry done to him?

"Rhaego?" Aramis kept calling, trying to rouse his dragon. "Come on, get up."

Rhaego shifted then, rising to his feet in almost mindless obedience, his gaze still empty.

Aramis exchanged a terrified look with Constance, but she didn't know what to do.

Athos and Porthos came over.

"That was weird," Porthos commented. "Never thought I'd see Rhaego behave like that."

Athos's gaze narrowed on Aramis, who was worriedly running his hands over his dragon in search of something. "Aramis?"

"Thierry did something to him."

"Witchcraft," d'Artagnan proclaimed.

Constance stiffened at the thought that black magic had been used. Aramis's eyes also widened in horror. But Thierry couldn't have possibly gotten away with that _in front_ of the King and the Cardinal.

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions," Athos replied pragmatically, but he was eyeing Rhaego with concern as well.

The dragon blinked languidly, then again. Then his eyelids started to flutter more rapidly and his head began to sway as he drunkenly took in his surroundings.

"Rhaego?" Aramis called.

His dragon turned toward the sound of his voice, still in a daze.

"I think he's coming out of it," Constance said in relief, watching the glazed look in Rhaego's eyes start to clear. Whatever Thierry had done to force him to obey hadn't been permanent.

But what had he done? Magic? It hadn't been natural, that was for certain. Constance was beginning to think d'Artagnan's suspicions about the dragon sickness, even her father's illness, might have validity.

But how were they going to prove it?

.o.0.o.

After assuring themselves that Rhaego was fully all right with no lasting side effects of whatever Thierry had done to him, Aramis reminded Constance about checking on her father and looking into the possibility that he'd been poisoned. So the two of them and d'Artagnan headed to the compound while the others remained behind to keep an eye on the garrison dragons in case Thierry returned.

It was early evening and getting to be around time for supper, not that any of them seemed to be hungry with everything going on.

Constance pulled up short. "Oh, the dragons…"

"I'll feed them," d'Artagnan immediately said and reached out to give her arm a reassuring squeeze.

She nodded and continued with Aramis into the house.

D'Artagnan went around toward the rabbit warren to gather up the dragons' dinner but paused as he passed by the outbuilding Thierry had turned into his own personal work space and living quarters. It was dark inside. Perhaps the dragon trader had been invited back to the palace for dinner with the King after his display of prowess at the garrison. D'Artagnan felt for sure witchcraft had to be involved. He just needed to find evidence of it.

He glanced around the yard and, when he still saw no sign of Thierry, slipped inside the outhouse. It had been a work shed and still had the various counter spaces and racks with tools. D'Artagnan had seen a witch's dwelling before and Thierry had none of the typical witchy items. But then, he wouldn't just leave them about for anyone to find.

A cot had been set up in the back and d'Artagnan spotted some belongings tucked underneath it. He rounded a workbench and knelt down to pull out a small chest. It had a lock on it, but thanks to some lessons from Porthos, he was able to pick it. He opened the lid to reveal an assortment of items that definitely had more of an occultist look to them. Or perhaps alchemical, d'Artagnan mentally conceded. There were various vials with different compounds, some powder, some liquid. Maybe one of them was a poison Thierry had used on either the dragons or Jean. Doctor Lemay would probably have to test them.

Which left d'Artagnan with the dilemma of how to get the samples to the doctor. If he took the entire chest, its absence would be noted. Plus he didn't want to create grounds for his word against Thierry's. He'd have to convince someone else to come back with him to conduct a search. Preferably someone unbiased.

"What do you think you are doing?"

D'Artagnan sprang to his feet, dropping the chest on the ground and spilling some of its contents. Thierry stood just inside the room, the door closed behind him. D'Artagnan hadn't even heard him shut the door.

"What is all this?" he asked instead, gesturing to the unbroken vials on the floor.

"Remedies for various dragon conditions," Thierry replied, tone carefully neutral.

D'Artagnan gave him a twisted smile. "Then you won't mind if we have them tested and validated?"

"On what grounds?"

"To prove you haven't poisoned Bonacieux in a bid to take over his job."

"That's preposterous."

D'Artagnan took a bold step forward. "I know you did it. I bet you even made all the dragons sick somehow. And that little display earlier with Rhaego—the King will not take kindly to a sorcerer in his midst."

Thierry exhaled loudly. "I can see you're not going to let this go. Although, now that I have to get rid of you, that little white dragon will need a new master." Thierry's face cracked with a grin at that.

D'Artagnan's hand flew to his sword and he surged forward, but before he could even draw, Thierry uttered two strange words, and d'Artagnan was hit with blinding white light, and then nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Constance picked up her pace to reach her father's bedroom. She had been gone longer than she'd intended and was now berating herself for leaving him alone all that time. She pulled up short upon crossing the threshold, her heart in her throat. Her father lay in bed as she'd left him, unmoving, hair plastered around his forehead and his skin ashen.

"Aramis…"

He pushed past her and went to her father's side, bending over him and momentarily blocking her view.

"He lives," Aramis said after a moment. "But he's growing weaker."

Constance felt both relief and terror surge through her. "Do you think it's poison?"

He ran a hand over his hair. "It could be. But without knowing how he was dosed, I can't be sure." He glanced over his shoulder at her, expression pinched. "I can try an emetic, but it won't be pleasant, and…"

Constance nodded shakily. She understood—the attempted cure could push him over the edge. But if they did nothing, he would likely die anyway. "What do you need?"

"Castor oil and mustard."

"We have those." They had a wide collection of remedies on hand for the dragons. Constance went to get them from a cupboard in the kitchen, along with a cup to mix them in.

Aramis took the ingredients from her, but she was shaking so much she dropped the cup on the floor and it rolled under the bed. As she got on her knees to retrieve it, she froze at the sight of some dark shape hanging from the bottom of the bed frame.

"Aramis!"

"What?" he asked in alarm at her frightened tone and squatted down next to her.

She pointed under the bed.

Frowning, he reached under and yanked the thing out. It looked like a mangled straw doll, sticky with some kind of unguent and bound with constricting twine.

"What is that?" Constance asked in disgust.

"It's a poppet." Aramis quickly rose to his feet and looked between it and Jean. "It's not poison; it's witchcraft."

Constance's blood ran cold. "What do we do? Destroy it?"

"I'm not sure." Aramis hesitated a moment before striding from the room with the doll. "I suggest we ask the person who put it there."

Constance hurried after him. They went to the shed, but Thierry wasn't there.

A high-pitched shrieking suddenly rent the air and Constance stiffened in alarm; it sounded like Ayelet. She and Aramis exchanged a quick look before hurrying toward the dragon pens. The screeching cut off abruptly just before they rounded the corner of the dens. Ayelet was sprawled on the ground, unmoving.

Constance rushed to her side, dropping down beside her and running hands over her small body in search of injury. She didn't find any.

Aramis swept past her and crouched down next to another still figure she hadn't noticed. Her eyes widened in fear. D'Artagnan.

There was the creak of a gate and she looked over to see Thierry opening Zhar's pen. The dragon poked its head out and Thierry held up a crystal necklace to capture the dragon's attention. Zhar cocked his head at it curiously, but after a moment he started to sway ever so slightly, his eyes glazing over.

Aramis leaped to his feet, dropping the poppet to draw his sword, and ran at them, but Thierry snapped his head to the side and uttered something Constance couldn't make out. Aramis suddenly went flying backward as though hit with some invisible force and landed hard next to d'Artagnan.

Thierry turned back to Zhar, still holding that crystal necklace. "Bring forth your fire, dragon," he intoned. "And light the kindling." He pointed to Aramis and d'Artagnan.

Constance watched in horror as Zhar's belly started to glow. "Zhar, don't!" she screamed.

The dragon hesitated, mouth partially open, his belly still lit with fulvous cracks.

Thierry frowned and thrust the crystal in the dragon's face again. "Listen to me."

Zhar's pupils dilated until his eyes were fully black.

Constance whipped her gaze around for help but there was no one. Aramis's sword was lying on the ground a few feet away. Fury flooding Constance's veins like dragon fire, she snatched up the sword and charged at Thierry. He jerked away as she swung the sword, the tip merely grazing his chest. But it cut through the necklace cord and the crystal fell to the ground.

"Why you little—" Thierry thrust his palm at her and muttered something.

She felt a terrible pressure smash into her chest, stealing her breath and slamming her into the ground. She screamed.

Zhar suddenly let out an enraged screech and swung his head toward Thierry, unleashing the geyser that had been building. Thierry stumbled backward, flailing as the fire caught his coat and whooshed up his arm. He screamed and threw himself to the ground in a frantic effort to put it out.

Aramis struggled to his feet and staggered over to him. The flames had mostly been put out as Aramis knelt and seized the man roughly by the collar. "Tell me how to reverse the poppet's effect," he demanded with murder in his tone.

Constance slowly sat up, trying to get her breath back. Her chest ached with each inhalation but she turned and crawled toward d'Artagnan, gathering him into her arms. He was breathing, just unconscious.

Thierry coughed and whimpered, his arm heavily burned.

Aramis gave him a rough shake. "Now. Or I'll let Zhar show you what happens to people who threaten Constance."

Constance's breath shuddered as she waited for his answer.

"F-fire," Thierry finally gritted out.

Aramis whipped around to meet her gaze and she nodded.

"Zhar, burn that, quickly!" She pointed at the poppet discarded on the ground.

Zhar didn't need more than that and belched out a stream of flame that immediately reduced the doll to ash.

Aramis let Thierry drop back against the dirt. "You know, you may have had your tricks, but you didn't have the dragons' loyalty like Constance does. She and Jean are better dragon keepers than you could ever be."

With that, he punched the dragon trader out.

D'Artagnan let out a low moan and Constance cupped his cheek.

"D'Artagnan?"

"Mm, Constance?" His eyelids blinked open sluggishly.

She let out a half delirious laugh of relief and leaned down to kiss him, only to abort when her chest twinged painfully.

D'Artagnan frowned. "Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. You're the one who was knocked unconscious."

"I… Thierry!" He tried to sit up but immediately squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed back against her arms.

"He's done," she replied, looking over as Aramis finished restraining the wounded man with one of the lead ropes that'd been hanging outside a dragon pen.

Aramis paused for a moment, then pulled out his handkerchief to gag the sorcerer. He then went to Ayelet and coaxed the little dragon into waking.

"Is she all right?" Constance asked worriedly.

"Looks all right. Just dazed."

Ayelet squeaked at him, then turned her gaze toward her humans and immediately crawled over to them. Constance put an arm around her back and held her close.

"I should alert the captain," Aramis said. "Will you be all right until I get back?"

Constance nodded, clinging to her husband and their dragon. They'd be right here.

.o.0.o.

"Bruised ribs," Doctor Lemay concluded after he'd examined Constance. "A few days' rest and no strenuous activities and you should be fine."

She nodded in thanks. "And my father?"

"He's still very weak, but his fever's broken. And if the cause of the illness truly was black magic, then…well, I'm afraid I'm a man of science and know nothing about the prognosis of curses."

It wasn't the assurance she'd been hoping for, but Constance decided she was going to believe her father was going to recover now.

After Aramis had returned to the compound with the musketeers and Constance and d'Artagnan had managed to get themselves to the house, they'd immediately checked on her father. He'd been in much the same condition, save for his fever was gone and Aramis had said he was breathing better. Doctor Lemay had been summoned right away, though Constance was the only one he'd really been able to treat. D'Artagnan had a headache from whatever spell Thierry had used to knock him out and Lemay gave him some herbs to steep in a tea for it, but other than that, all they could do was rest and recover on their own.

Lemay packed up his bag and excused himself and Constance headed for her father's room. Aramis was there and was talking quietly. He looked up at Constance's entrance and smiled, then stepped back to give her a view of the bed. Her father was awake.

She rushed to the side of the bed, falling to her knees beside it and clasping her father's hand. He smiled tiredly and reached his other hand across himself to cover hers. Tears of relief filled her eyes. Aramis quietly excused himself to give them privacy.

"I was so frightened," Constance whispered brokenly.

Her father gave her an understanding smile. "I used to worry, about when it was my time, about leaving you alone." He squeezed her hands. "But you're not alone. You have d'Artagnan, and the Musketeers."

She frowned, twisting around with the urge to yell for Aramis or Doctor Lemay.

Jean tugged her hands to draw her gaze back to him. "What I'm trying to say, _when_ it is my time, I won't be afraid, because I know you'll be taken care of."

Her eyes welled with tears and she gripped back hard. "Try not to make that time for a long while, okay?"

He smiled again, his eyelids drifting closed. "I'll do my best."

She sat with him for a few more minutes until his breaths evened out in sleep. Then she leaned forward to softly kiss his brow before quietly slipping out to the kitchen.

D'Artagnan, Aramis, Athos, and Porthos were all gathered there.

"How is he?" Porthos asked in concern.

"He needs a lot of rest, but I think he'll be fine," she replied.

"As do you," Aramis said, reaching out and firmly guiding her to sit.

She couldn't help the small wince as she did so, but then she straightened abruptly. "Oh, the dragons. I don't think they've been fed. And the pens have to be mucked out."

D'Artagnan reached over to place a hand on her arm. "I'll take care of it," he assured her.

"With help," Aramis interjected. "I can tell by your squinting that you can't see straight at the moment."

D'Artagnan grimaced and went back to sipping his tea.

"We've got it covered," Porthos added.

"What about Thierry?" Constance asked.

"There is enough evidence to condemn him for sorcery," Athos replied. "He will be executed."

Constance found executions distasteful, but after what that man had done to her father, there was a sliver of relief in knowing he would never hurt them or their dragons again.

"It's late," Athos went on. "You two should get some rest. We'll take care of the dragons."

Constance nodded and slowly stood up. Her father still needed care, though, so she'd have to check on him…

"I'll watch over Jean," Aramis said quietly, taking her arm and gently guiding her toward her room.

"Aramis…" She trailed off into a soft smile. "Thank you."

He smiled back and left her on the threshold as d'Artagnan came to join her. They both exchanged exhausted but warm looks of love and headed for the comfort of bed and each other's arms.

.o.0.o.

Richelieu held himself stiffly as he stood next to the King and listened to Treville's report about discovering Thierry was a sorcerer. He was brimming with fury that all his careful planning had been undone.

"A sorcerer?" Louis repeated in disbelief. "That is most disturbing."

"We believe he caused the sickness among the dragons that brought him to our aid in the first place," Treville went on.

"To what purpose?" Anne asked.

"To insinuate himself into the position of royal dragon keeper," Treville replied. "We found evidence Bonacieux's illness was also the result of dark magic."

The Queen put a hand to her breast in horror. "Will he recover?"

"We believe so, Your Majesty. Thierry was finally apprehended by the musketeers while trying to murder one of them. He was also trying to perform some kind of hypnosis on one of the dragons to control it, but Constance Bonacieux stopped him."

"Hypnosis? Do you think he was trying to steal my dragons?" Louis asked in alarm.

"We don't know his precise end goals," Treville answered. "He was burned during his attack and hasn't been fully interrogated yet."

"Does it matter?" Richelieu finally interjected. "This man is a vile user of black magic. Regardless of his motives, he must be burned at the stake."

Louis nodded. "Quite right. See that it is done, Treville."

"I'll have the Red Guard take care of it," Richelieu said quickly. "Treville's men have had a trying time recently."

"Very well," Louis replied.

"Your musketeers did well, Captain Treville," the Queen put in. "We are very fortunate they were astute enough to see through Thierry's deception. And Constance, of course. She is clearly as skilled a dragon keeper as her father." Anne turned to Louis. "We are blessed to have them both in our service."

Louis blinked but then nodded. "Of course."

Captain Treville was dismissed and Richelieu took his leave so he could send his red guards to the prison to take care of Thierry before the man could speak out against him. But his fury over the situation only intensified as he swept through the halls toward his office, and once he reached them, it exploded in a burst of wrath and he swung his arm at the items on his desk, sending them crashing to the floor.

"Those musketeers are a menace!"

He planted his palms on the bare desk and seethed. It was always those four getting in his way, too. Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan.

He was going to have to do something about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> The Inseparables are sent on a mission to protect a valuable mine from rebels, but when they're caught in a deadly explosion and buried alive, it becomes a race against time for the Musketeers to save them.


End file.
